yourself, sir.’
He was looking down at her fingers where they rested on his sleeve. Gently, she withdrew them. It had been an impulsive gesture, but he was, after all, almost a stranger. They began to walk on again and despite a little awkwardness Lucy did not want to let the moment pass.
‘Will you tell me?’ she asked him. ‘Will you explain what happened the night she died?’ When he did not reply immediately she added, ‘I beg your pardon. I have no right to ask—’
‘But you want to know, don’t you? If I will not speak of it then you will find out from someone else.’
She could not lie.
‘Yes.’
‘Then it is best you hear it from me. Helene walked here a great deal. Her father, Sir James, is—calls himself—a druid. Have you heard of The Ancient Order of the Druids, Miss Halbrook? Not so ancient, in fact. They were founded about five-and-twenty years ago by a man named Hurle and they are an offshoot of an older order, which Hurle considered too profane. They have their own beliefs and rituals, many based on nature and astrology. And of course they believe there is a link with the ancient standing stones.’ His lip curled. ‘There are no such stones at Adversane, but we do have Druids Rock. The name of the place goes back generations. No one seems to know why it was called thus, but certainly there have been no druidic rituals here in my lifetime, or my father’s. When Preston learned that Druids Rock was on my land he was even more eager for me to become his son-in-law. Even before the marriage had taken place he began to come to Adversane regularly to visit the rock. As did Helene during that last spring and summer when we were living at Adversane. She even went there in the dark, ostensibly to watch the sunrise.’
‘Ostensibly? You did not believe it?’ Lucy closed her lips. That was not the sort of thing one asked a man about his wife.
‘I did not question her beliefs,’ he said shortly. ‘But I did insist that she never went there unaccompanied. She agreed always to take her maid with her, and I was content with that.’ A faint, derisive smile curled his lip. ‘The locals fear the place is haunted by fairies and hobgoblins, but I never heard that they injured anyone. If she wanted to get up before dawn to go there I would not forbid it.
‘That is what she is thought to have been doing on Midsummer’s Eve. It is thought to be the reason she was still wearing her evening gown.’
‘Why did you not come with her?’
‘I have no time for superstition, Miss Halbrook.’
‘But what about romance?’ Those dark brows rose and she blushed. ‘Some would think it romantic to watch the dawn together.’
‘That would be as nonsensical as my wife’s druidical beliefs.’ His hard look challenged Lucy to contradict him, and when she said nothing he continued. ‘She was not missed until just before breakfast time, when her maid realised she had not gone to bed. I organised search parties, but it did not take long to find her. Druids Rock was the first place we looked.’
‘How dreadful for you.’
‘Not only for me, but for everyone who was staying at Adversane.’
‘And yet, you have invited the same people to join you here again?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you have invited the players to come in, just as they did the night she—the night Helene died.’
‘The Midsummer’s Eve play is a tradition, Miss Halbrook. It goes back generations, far beyond the tragedy of my wife’s death. It is not logical that it should cease because of one tragic event.’
‘But surely—’
He stopped her, saying impatiently, ‘Enough of this. We will talk of something else, if you please, or continue in silence.’
* * *
She chose silence, and Ralph found himself regretting it. She might infuriate him with her incessant questions but she was only voicing what others would think. It was as well that he had the answers ready. He acknowledged to himself that he had been misled by her appearance. In Mrs Killinghurst’s office, she had looked positively drab in the enveloping grey gown and quite demure. If he had known she would show such spirit he would never have employed her. A faint smile began inside him. He should be honest with himself. He did know, from that very first encounter in the alley.
He had deliberately positioned himself at the door of Mrs Killinghurst’s office so that he could observe the candidate for this post and he had seen Miss Lucy Halbrook walking towards him. He had noted the slight hesitation as she found her way blocked, then the way her head had come up as she approached him, determined not to be intimidated.
Yes, he knew from that first moment that she was not one to accept his demands without question. He should have told Mrs Killinghurst to send her away, to find someone more biddable. Even as the thought formed he realised that after Lucy Halbrook, anyone else would seem very dull indeed.
* * *
Lucy hardly noticed the continuing silence. Her mind was too full of what she had heard to make idle conversation. Lord Adversane was lost in his own thoughts and did not appear to object so she occupied herself with studying her surroundings, the rough grass and darker patches of heather, the view of the distant hills. Everything was new and interesting. Suddenly a swathe of white caught her eye, a shifting, snowy carpet nestling in a wide, flat depression a short distance from their path.
‘Oh, how pretty. What is it?’
‘Cotton grass.’ He strode across to the dip and picked a handful of the fluffy, nodding heads. ‘It grows on boggy ground. It can be used to stuff pillows, though it is not as good as goosedown.’
‘It looks very fine,’ she observed.
‘It is. Feel it.’
The breath caught in her throat as he brushed the white heads against her cheek. The touch was gentle, as light as thistledown, but it sent a thrill running through her body. She became shockingly aware of the man standing beside her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to connect herself to his rugged strength. It was an immense struggle to compose herself and respond calmly.
‘It, um, it is as soft as silk.’
He held her eyes for a moment, a look she could not interpret in his own, then he turned away.
‘Unfortunately the strands are too short to be spun into thread.’
A faint disappointment flickered through her as he cast aside the grasses and began to walk on.
Did you expect him to present them to you like some lovesick swain?
With a mental shrug, she fell into step beside him again, walking on in silence until they had crossed Hobart’s Bridge and were approaching the belt of trees that separated the moors from Adversane Hall.
‘Does that way lead to the Hall, too?’ she asked, pointing to the old track where it disappeared around the trees.
‘Yes. It leads to the main gates, but it will be quicker if we go through the old ride.’
‘Is that what it
